


All to No Avail.

by CountlessUntruths (KaliCephirot)



Category: Death Note
Genre: Gunkink., M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-29
Updated: 2008-02-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 05:59:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9109672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaliCephirot/pseuds/CountlessUntruths
Summary: Near knows that, with Mello, fighting would be too telling.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://springkink.livejournal.com/profile)[springkink](http://springkink.livejournal.com/): _Death Note, Mello/Near: Gunsex - "I'd rather kill you."_

**All to No Avail**  
 __I won't stand in your way  
Let your hatred grow  
And she'll scream  
And she'll shout  
And she'll pray  
And she had a name  
Yeah she had a name  
'Stockholm Syndrome', Muse

Mello's hands are tight around his neck. Too tight, making it hard to swallow; Near can feel his adam's apple against Mello's fingers and he guesses that, with the way Mello has been progressively squeezing, he won't be able to breathe in about a minute or so.

He wonders if he can keep from fighting until then, or if his survival instincts will kick in, if they'll make him kick and squirm and drag blunt fingernails over Mello's hands and face as he tries to throw him off his body, as he tries to get enough air again. Near realizes that, even if it does happen, he won't have much chance against Mello's strength, if panic clouds his better judgement.

“I could kill you,” Mello mutters again, squeezing a little bit more. Near doesn't roll his eyes but keeps on looking at Mello, unimpressed.

This is, Near knows, a competition, just like all the others they've had. Or it's one for Mello at least, who always translates things about him wrong. If he fights, Near thinks that Mello _thinks_ that he'll win. If he doesn't, Near wins. And the threat coming from Mello would be, Near guesses, that if he wins he dies.

He's no stranger to discussions with Mello turning bad, but Near was unaware of the way his heart could beat, fast and hard, of the way adrenaline would run through his body, like oil, making him want to do something. Fight Mello. Scratch him. Give him the violence he seems to need.

He overcomes this, of course. Instead, Near closes his eyes and shifts as little as possible, taking a last deep breath to hold before Mello squeezes back. Near doesn't open his eyes even if he wants to see Mello's expression as he does this, as he squeezes so hard that Near is starting to feel the way every instinct in his body is screaming at him to do something and he doesn't.

Mello lets go as if he was burnt, cursing in English and Latvian, slamming the door open and pushing Matt out of the way. Near breathes in and out slowly, reaching a hand to his tender throat and watches him go.

*

The gun presses against the nape of his neck. Near pauses, the dice still between his fingers. He feels the cold, harsh muzzle against his skin, almost making him shiver. He doesn't hear the safety being taken, though, which means that Mello either didn't put it or just doesn't care about really using the gun.

Near bets for the former rather than the later. His pulse remains mostly the same.

“I could kill you,” Mello says. He doesn't even sound particularly interested about it, the way he phrases it, for all that he doesn't move the gun from the back of his neck. Near imagines the mess it would make, if Mello was to actually shoot him, the way his body would slump forwards and destroy his construction.

He should know better than to rile Mello, but he is only human, after all.

“No, you couldn't,” Near says. He can't see Mello's expression like this, but he imagines the way the scar must look, the rage changing Mello's face and eyes. The scar, Near thinks, probably suits Mello's true character.

The gun presses harsher against his neck, and Near puts down his arm and the dice.

“Are you still saying that? _With the way we are right now?_ ” Mello snarls, some of his old accent slipping into his tone, a mix of English and Latvian and just him.

Was he still a kid, Near would have believed that Mello could kill him, but even for people like them, things change with the years. Near doesn't smile, for all that he is suddenly amused. Fighting back, he had always known, would be too telling with Mello.

“Yes, I am,” Near answers instead.

He waits for it, the moment where Mello will give the step forward – since it's Mello and he wouldn't mind getting messy with his blood and brains if he did shoot – so that he can push a few of the dice behind him, just enough that Mello's balance is lost.

It's dangerous and he knows it, but Near shifts to the side when he feels Mello monetarily lose his balance, turning so that he can push Mello down to the floor and then grab the gun, take it from Mello's slack grip in his surprise.

He makes sure to take off the safety before Mello gets the chance to fight back, pointing the gun to his head. His heartbeat is faster now, Near knows. He feels it, the same kind of excitement that solving a case only harsher, fiercer, cruder, something low and strong that he enjoys, perhaps, a little too much to be healthy. Even if it's been a while since the last time he held a gun, there is no way that he'd miss this close.

Mello stops trying to scramble back up and settles for glaring. Near gets closer to him, enough that he can press the muzzle of the gun over Mello's face and then he straddles him, settling low on Mello's thighs, using the muzzle to shift Mello's hair to see the scar and barely resists the urge to trace it with his own fingers.

“I could kill you,” Near copies Mello's phrase, trying to make Mello understand that no, that even if the both technically can't, neither of them would, because the world would be too boring without the other one in here. For all that Mello hates him for his 'lack of emotions' and for all that Near dislikes how Mello's passion makes him sloppy, he realizes that they both are just pointing exactly to the things they both are missing.

Mello bares his teeth, curls his hands into fists. Near keeps the gun pressed against Mello's forehead.

“Then fuckin' do it, Near,” Mello snarls, glaring at him.

Though he has no intentions of doing so, Near thinks about it for a moment, and he narrows his eyes and moves the gun, presses it against Mello's mouth.

“Do you want me to, Mello?” Near asks, finger on the trigger. It'd take a second. Perhaps less, if Near was to be specific.

From where he is sitting down, Near is almost sure he can feel Mello's cock hardening, and he isn't surprised to find out that Mello is aroused by this. He is, however, almost distracted by the way his own cock seems to harden as he keeps the gun pressed against Mello's mouth, and by the way Mello's eyes darken, he is surprised by the same thing before he opens his mouth and licks at the barrel, makes a show of tongue and lips and he moans like a whore when Near presses the barrel into his mouth.

His erection presses against Mello's stomach and Near doesn't glare, but he looks at the way Mello looks at him, the way he keeps on working over the metal of a gun, even bobbing his head a little, lips flushing against the unforgiving metal of it and Near thinks how that'd feel, Mello's tongue touching his skin; Mello only stops when Near reaches for the safety.

Near, however, just puts the safety again, taking the gun out of Mello's mouth and barely resists the urge to rub himself off over Mello's stomach, or touch the scars over his face and body with his own hands.

When he stands up, his body feels heavy, and Near takes a moment before he reaches for one dice to put over his castle, just to make sure his hand isn't shaking, leaving the gun by his side.

He hears Mello stand up, the soft crinkle of a chocolate bar being opened and then the click of his boots as Mello walks out, but this time Mello isn't hurrying to go outside, he isn't cursing and its Near the one who is almost frowning.

Mello wins this time.  



End file.
